Page 38 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

She huffed. “I got ambushed by Fiona and Niamh, along with that dressmaker and a talking painting.”

“Margaret came to your cottage?”

“You know her?” Enid asked.

“Oh, Margaret makes sure everyone knows her,” I said. “She’s a bit of a gossip.”

“A bit?” Enid raised a brow, and I laughed.

“Gossip is her entire life. But to be fair, she is stuck in a painting and doesn’t have a lot else to do but listen in on people’s conversations.”

“Well, if it isn’t Nevan Wolfgang,” a voice said, interrupting.

Enid and I looked up to see Myrna Carragh hovering over us, owner of the Deerborn and possibly the oldest living person in Fairwitch Isle. Wrinkles lined her ancient face as she peered down, her white hair up in a bun.

“Hi, Myrna,” I said.

“It’s been a while, Mr. Wolfgang.”

“I guess I’ve been busy. Being the only town healer and all.”

“Well, I’m glad you made it out tonight. And with a companion, it seems.” She turned her pointed gaze to Enid. “No funny business now. I don’t want that vine of yours coming in and suffocating anyone while they’re eating.” She lowered her voice. “Unless it just happens to be Mr. Wolvern’s table.” She tipped her head toward her former arch nemesis. The Wolverns and Carraghs feuded for centuries until Elowyn Carragh fell in love with Liam Wolvern and ended the animosity. Mostly.

Myrna might still have held a grudge.

“Wouldn’t mind seeing that vine of yours give him a squeeze.”

Enid’s lips twitched.

“Vine won’t be dining in tonight,” I said before Enid could agree. “We’re here to eat. Enid’s very excited to try your delicious food.”

That seemed to mollify Myrna, who raised her chin. “It is delicious. My Elowyn helps us with the menu. She’s the castle chef, you know.”

“Great,” Enid said with a flat tone.

I kicked her under the table, and she shot me a glare. I mimicked smiling, which only made her frown deepen.

“We’ll have your roasted chicken and dumplings and two ales.” I held up two fingers.

Myrna kept her narrowed gaze on Enid but finally nodded and spun on her heel.

“Remember how we talked about smiling?” I asked.

Enid rolled her eyes. “Oh, I remember. My least favorite conversation with you to date.”

“You’ve ranked our conversations?” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Now I’m going to have to hear the full list, worst to best.”

She pressed her lips together, and I laughed.

“Okay, how about instead you tell me why you were ambushed tonight?”

Enid sighed heavily as one of the serving boys plopped two foaming mugs of ale in front of us. “They knew about our date tonight, and apparently, they decided my wardrobe was lacking.”

I choked on my ale. “Really?”

She nodded, brows furrowing. Grumpy Enid might have been quickly becoming my favorite Enid. “Fiona said it looked like I was going to a funeral.”

I choked again, and Enid just stared at me, unamused as I banged my fist on my chest. “I don’t think that,” I said quickly. “I mean, your maroon dress looks stunning. It fits you well.” I squeezed my eyes shut. Fits her well? What in the fuck? “I mean, it molds to your body.” Oh godwitches, no. That was way worse. “It’s lovely is what I’m trying to say.”